ROMEO AND JULIET
ACT 2, Scene 2
 
 
 
 

One of my favourite passages, the words and actions of Romeo and Juliet
belie their ages - their love shines through everything around them


 
 

                                                                

                                                    SCENE 2: Capulet's orchard.

                                                    Enter ROMEO

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    He jests at scars that never felt a wound.

                                                    JULIET appears above at a window

                                                    But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
                                                    It is the east, and Juliet is the sun.
                                                    Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon,
                                                    Who is already sick and pale with grief,
                                                    That thou her maid art far more fair than she:
                                                    Be not her maid, since she is envious;
                                                    Her vestal livery is but sick and green
                                                    And none but fools do wear it; cast it off.
                                                    It is my lady, O, it is my love!
                                                    O, that she knew she were!
                                                    She speaks yet she says nothing: what of that?
                                                    Her eye discourses; I will answer it.
                                                    I am too bold, 'tis not to me she speaks:
                                                    Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven,
                                                    Having some business, do entreat her eyes
                                                    To twinkle in their spheres till they return.
                                                    What if her eyes were there, they in her head?
                                                    The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars,
                                                    As daylight doth a lamp; her eyes in heaven
                                                    Would through the airy region stream so bright
                                                    That birds would sing and think it were not night.
                                                    See, how she leans her cheek upon her hand!
                                                    O, that I were a glove upon that hand,
                                                    That I might touch that cheek!

                                                    JULIET

                                                    Ay me!

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    She speaks: O, speak again, bright angel! for thou art
                                                    As glorious to this night, being o'er my head
                                                    As is a winged messenger of heaven
                                                    Unto the white-upturned wondering eyes
                                                    Of mortals that fall back to gaze on him
                                                    When he bestrides the lazy-pacing clouds
                                                    And sails upon the bosom of the air.

                                                    JULIET

                                                    O Romeo, Romeo! wherefore art thou Romeo?
                                                    Deny thy father and refuse thy name;
                                                    Or, if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love,
                                                    And I'll no longer be a Capulet.

                                                    ROMEO [Aside]

                                                    Shall I hear more, or shall I speak at this?

                                                    JULIET

                                                    'Tis but thy name that is my enemy;
                                                    Thou art thyself, though not a Montague.
                                                    What's Montague? it is nor hand, nor foot,
                                                    Nor arm, nor face, nor any other part
                                                    Belonging to a man. O, be some other name!
                                                    What's in a name? that which we call a rose
                                                    By any other name would smell as sweet;
                                                    So Romeo would, were he not Romeo call'd,
                                                    Retain that dear perfection which he owes
                                                    Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name,
                                                    And for that name which is no part of thee
                                                    Take all myself.

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    I take thee at thy word:
                                                    Call me but love, and I'll be new baptized;
                                                    Henceforth I never will be Romeo.

                                                    JULIET

                                                    What man art thou that thus bescreen'd in night
                                                    So stumblest on my counsel?

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    By a name
                                                    I know not how to tell thee who I am:
                                                    My name, dear saint, is hateful to myself,
                                                    Because it is an enemy to thee;
                                                    Had I it written, I would tear the word.

                                                    JULIET

                                                    My ears have not yet drunk a hundred words
                                                    Of that tongue's utterance, yet I know the sound:
                                                    Art thou not Romeo and a Montague?

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    Neither, fair saint, if either thee dislike.

                                                    JULIET

                                                    How camest thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?
                                                    The orchard walls are high and hard to climb,
                                                    And the place death, considering who thou art,
                                                    If any of my kinsmen find thee here.

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    With love's light wings did I o'er-perch these walls;
                                                    For stony limits cannot hold love out,
                                                    And what love can do that dares love attempt;
                                                    Therefore thy kinsmen are no let to me.

                                                    JULIET

                                                    If they do see thee, they will murder thee.

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    Alack, there lies more peril in thine eye
                                                    Than twenty of their swords: look thou but sweet,
                                                    And I am proof against their enmity

                                                    JULIET

                                                    I would not for the world they saw thee here.

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    I have night's cloak to hide me from their sight;
                                                    And but thou love me, let them find me here:
                                                    My life were better ended by their hate,
                                                    Than death prorogued, wanting of thy love.

                                                    JULIET

                                                    By whose direction found'st thou out this place?

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    By love, who first did prompt me to inquire;
                                                    He lent me counsel and I lent him eyes.
                                                    I am no pilot; yet, wert thou as far
                                                    As that vast shore wash'd with the farthest sea,
                                                    I would adventure for such merchandise.

                                                    JULIET

                                                    Thou know'st the mask of night is on my face,
                                                    Else would a maiden blush bepaint my cheek
                                                    For that which thou hast heard me speak to-night
                                                    FainÁ would I dwell on form, fain, fain deny
                                                    What I have spoke: but farewell compliment!
                                                    Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say 'Ay,'
                                                    And I will take thy word: yet if thou swear'st,
                                                    Thou mayst prove false; at lovers' perjuries
                                                    Then say, Jove laughs. O gentle Romeo,
                                                    If thou dost love, pronounce it faithfully:
                                                    Or if thou think'st I am too quickly won,
                                                    I'll frown and be perverse an say thee nay,
                                                    So thou wilt woo; but else, not for the world.
                                                    In truth, fair Montague, I am too fond,
                                                    And therefore thou mayst think my 'havior light:
                                                    But trust me, gentleman, I'll prove more true
                                                    Than those that have more cunning to be strange.
                                                    I should have been more strange, I must confess,
                                                    But that thou overheard'st, ere I was ware,
                                                    My true love's passion: therefore pardon me,
                                                    And not impute this yielding to light love,
                                                    Which the dark night hath so discovered.

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    Lady, by yonder blessed moon I swear
                                                    That tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops--

                                                    JULIET

                                                    O, swear not by the moon, the inconstant moon,
                                                    That monthly changes in her circled orb,
                                                    Lest that thy love prove likewise variable.

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    What shall I swear by?

                                                     JULIET

                                                    Do not swear at all;
                                                    Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self,
                                                    Which is the god of my idolatry,
                                                    And I'll believe thee.

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    If my heart's dear love--

JU                                                JULIET

                                                    Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee,
                                                    I have no joy of this contract to-night:
                                                    It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden;
                                                    Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be
                                                    Ere one can say 'It lightens.' Sweet, good night!
                                                    This bud of love, by summer's ripening breath,
                                                    May prove a beauteous flower when next we meet.
                                                    Good night, good night! as sweet repose and rest
                                                    Come to thy heart as that within my breast!

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?

                                                    JULIET

                                                    What satisfaction canst thou have to-night?

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    The exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine.

                                                    JULIET

                                                    I gave thee mine before thou didst request it:
                                                    And yet I would it were to give again.

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    Wouldst thou withdraw it? for what purpose, love?

                                                    JULIET

                                                    But to be frank, and give it thee again.
                                                    And yet I wish but for the thing I have:
                                                    My bounty is as boundless as the sea,
                                                    My love as deep; the more I give to thee,
                                                    The more I have, for both are infinite.

                                                    Nurse calls within
                                                    I hear some noise within; dear love, adieu!
                                                    Anon, good nurse! Sweet Montague, be true.
                                                    Stay but a little, I will come again.

                                                    Exit, above

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    O blessed, blessed night! I am afeard.
                                                    Being in night, all this is but a dream,
                                                    Too flattering-sweet to be substantial.

                                                    Re-enter JULIET, above

                                                    JULIET

                                                    Three words, dear Romeo, and good night indeed.
                                                    If that thy bent of love be honourable,
                                                    Thy purpose marriage, send me word to-morrow,
                                                    By one that I'll procure to come to thee,
                                                    Where and what time thou wilt perform the rite;
                                                    And all my fortunes at thy foot I'll lay
                                                    And follow thee my lord throughout the world.

                                                    Nurse [Within] Madam!

                                                    JULIET

                                                    I come, anon.--But if thou mean'st not well,
                                                    I do beseech thee--

                                                    Nurse [Within]

                                                    Madam!

                                                    JULIET

                                                    By and by, I come:--
                                                    To cease thy suit, and leave me to my grief:
                                                    To-morrow will I send.

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    So thrive my soul--

                                                    JULIET

                                                    A thousand times good night!

                                                    Exit, above

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    A thousand times the worse, to want thy light.
                                                    Love goes toward love, as schoolboys from their books,
                                                    But love from love, toward school with heavy looks.

                                                    Retiring

                                                    Re-enter JULIET, above

                                                    JULIET

                                                    Hist! Romeo, hist! O, for a falconer's voice,
                                                    To lure this tassel-gentle back again!
                                                    Bondage is hoarse, and may not speak aloud;
                                                    Else would I tear the cave where Echo lies,
                                                    And make her airy tongue more hoarse than mine,
                                                    With repetition of my Romeo's name.

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    It is my soul that calls upon my name:
                                                    How silver-sweet sound lovers' tongues by night,
                                                    Like softest music to attending ears!

                                                    JULIET

                                                    Romeo!

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    My dear?

                                                    JULIET

                                                    At what o'clock to-morrow
                                                    Shall I send to thee?

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    At the hour of nine.

                                                    JULIET

                                                    I will not fail: 'tis twenty years till then.
                                                    I have forgot why I did call thee back.

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    Let me stand here till thou remember it.

                                                    JULIET

                                                    I shall forget, to have thee still stand there,
                                                    Remembering how I love thy company.

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    And I'll still stay, to have thee still forget,
                                                    Forgetting any other home but this.

                                                    JULIET

                                                    'Tis almost morning; I would have thee gone:
                                                    And yet no further than a wanton's bird;
                                                    Who lets it hop a little from her hand,
                                                    Like a poor prisoner in his twisted gyves,
                                                    And with a silk thread plucks it back again,
                                                    So loving-jealous of his liberty.

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    I would I were thy bird.

                                                    JULIET

                                                    Sweet, so would I:
                                                    Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing.
                                                    Good night, good night! parting is such sweet sorrow,
                                                    That I shall say good night till it be morrow.

                                                    Exit.

                                                    ROMEO

                                                    Sleep dwell upon thine eyes, peace in thy breast!
                                                    Would I were sleep and peace, so sweet to rest!
                                                    Hence will I to my ghostly father's cell,
                                                    His help to crave, and my dear hap to tell.
 
 
 

                                                                        William Shakespeare
 
 

                                                                        

Exit.